


Welcome to Storybrooke

by lamerezouille



Category: Merlin (TV), Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-12
Updated: 2012-11-12
Packaged: 2017-11-18 12:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/561113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lamerezouille/pseuds/lamerezouille
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur and Merlin have been on this American road trip for what seems to be forever when their car breaks down and they stumble on a weird little town.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome to Storybrooke

**Author's Note:**

> This story is set post S4 for Merlin, and sometimes in the middle of S1 for OuaT—making it AU for both given the new seasons.  
> It was written for [this prompt](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/28101.html?thread=29484229#t29484229) on the [](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://kinkme-merlin.livejournal.com/)**kinkme_merlin**.
> 
> Warnings: Character death, mentions of torture, terminal illness. (But it's a lot less dark than these warnings make it look like.)

‘This is clearly _entirely_ your fault, Merlin!’ Arthur punches the glove compartment as he says it and Merlin has to force himself not to throw up his hands in frustration, because doing that while driving would certainly not be a good idea.

‘Is it?’ Merlin answers through gritted teeth. ‘I really don’t see how any of this can be my fault, when it all originated from _you_.’

‘Well, _you_ were the one supposed to navigate us, but it seems to me we’re lost in the middle of nowhere.’ Arthur is letting his arrogant prat side take over and it’s a clear sign that he’s utterly exhausted.

Merlin is quite tired too, as things are, but it seems he’s never too tired to fight with Arthur. Why they’ve decided to have this kind of road trip together when they can’t spend two hours without bickering is a great mystery.

‘I can hardly navigate us properly when I’m to drive ninety percent of the time. Just because you decided you weren’t able to drive on the right side of the road…’ Merlin grumbles, his eyes fixed on the road.

The more he thinks about it, the more he wonders why on earth he accepted to come to the States with Arthur in the first place. He’s never really been as fascinated by what was on the other side of the pound as some people are, but even if his memories before the road trip are a bit fuzzy, he remembers thinking it was the thing to do. How trapping oneself in a car for an undetermined length of time with one’s unrequired _and very straight_ crush could ever be the thing to do, Merlin’s guess is as good as anyone’s.

But he’s there now, in an American car with Arthur, and he can clearly think of a million places he’d rather be.

Because the worst of it is that, even after being subjected to Arthur’s awful musical tastes, his bossiness and his numerous criticisms on Merlin’s driving, Merlin’s crush hasn’t abated at all. Arthur is still the most gorgeous thing on earth, his smile is still knee-melting and when they take their time to talk—really talk, not just banter or bicker—Merlin can see that Arthur’s heart is as golden as his hair.

It’s quite fortunate that Arthur finds time to regularly mention that he’s engaged to Merlin’s best friend. Without that, there would be an even greater risk for Merlin to fall in love with the bastard. Not that the risk isn’t there anyway.

 

They’re on the curve of a road Merlin thinks they’ve already been on when the car breaks down. Arthur is leaning down to tie his shoe when they stop abruptly and he knocks his head on the side of the dashboard. Merlin smiles at his angry expletives. He knows it’s only a matter of seconds before Arthur chooses to pin the blame on Merlin.

‘What have you done to the car?’ Arthur accuses very expectedly.

‘Nothing,’ Merlin answers calmly. ‘I think I heard something pop just before everything stopped.

‘Something _popped_?’ Arthur asks disbelievingly. ‘Aren’t rented car supposed to be in top shape? Do you remember the agency saying anything about what we should do if something like this happened?’

Merlin honestly can’t. He doesn’t really remember the agency at all in fact. It’s weird because he _knows_ they went there in New York and rented a car they decided to affectionately call _The Dragon_ , but he really can picture neither the agency’s front desk nor the employee’s face. And it gives him a right headache just thinking about it.

‘D’you think we should check the engine? Maybe we can do something about it,’ Merlin suggests reasonably.

‘I don’t know about you, Merlin, but I doubt my master in political sciences qualifies me to repair a car.’

Merlin sighs and unbuckles his belt. It’s not the first time Arthur seems to be under the impression that because he never did anything practical in his life, Merlin should act like his manservant.

Merlin’s arm hurts when he pushes the driver’s door open and hurts a little more when he pulls the car bonnet open. He fishes his medicine from his jeans pocket. Only one pill left. Merlin stares at it, white and so small in his palm, and swallows it without water. No more painkillers for Merlin; there’s no need to waste water too. They don’t know how long until the next town, after all. It seems to be _weeks_ since they last saw one.

He looks thoughtfully to what he can see of the engine. Something has definitely popped, and the engine no longer resembles what Merlin is pretty sure an engine should look like. When he closes the bonnet, Arthur is out of the car, leaning against the boot and nibbling on some chocolate biscuits they bought at the last filling station. The sky is grey but Arthur’s got his pair of aviator sunglasses on. It’s a shame, really, to hide such a beautiful shade of blue.

Merlin goes to stand next to him and grabs the biscuits packet. ‘The car seems pretty dead to me.’ He pops a biscuit in his mouth, lets the chocolate melt on his tongue, and says, ‘What should we do, now?’

‘It seems pretty obvious to me, Merlin,’ Arthur says with a long-suffering sigh. ‘I know you’re generally a very lazy person, but we’ll have to walk. There has to be some kind of town nearby, or they wouldn’t have bothered building such a nice piece of asphalted crap.’ Arthur grimaces as if the road has personally offended him. And maybe it has; there has to be a reason their Awesome Road Trip has turned so badly.

They take their backpacks and some food, and they’re on their way.

 

It’s almost ironic that they find a town sign in their first half hour of walk, after having driven for so long without anything in sight. Arthur is genuinely happy: Merlin can see it in the curve of his smile, a real smile without the usual hint of sarcasm.

‘Look at that, Merlin! Your little girly legs will be able to rest, now.’

Merlin is happy too, so much so that he doesn’t even take offense about the legs remark, because it’s true that his legs hurt a lot. He follows Arthur after taking a last look at the sign.

 _Welcome to Storybrooke_.

~

Arthur was King for more than a year, but it didn’t mean he would stop doing fieldwork altogether; especially when the fieldwork concerned Morgana’s whereabouts. He trusted his knights with his life, but he knew there were some things he couldn’t totally leave in their hands.

He trusted Gwaine to fight anything Morgana would throw at him; he trusted Elyan not to let himself be fooled by her magic; he trusted Leon to give her a merciful death; he trusted Percival to protect all of them with his whole body and soul; and he trusted Merlin to absolutely crush Morgana with his magic. But it was only himself he trusted to offer her redemption if there was the slightest possibility she’d take it.

She had betrayed him in the worst way possible, but she was still his sister. He still had loved her very dearly. Once, he would have done anything to save her life. If there was any way he could still save her, even if it was from herself, he would do it with no hesitation.

Merlin had indicated where Morgana’s hut was situated and they were all there, with the addition of twenty knights and twice more soldiers. Morgana was supposed to still be recovering from her latest failed attack, but they didn’t want to take any chance.

They were circling her cabin now, and neither his hunter senses nor Merlin’s magical ones had detected anything untoward coming from inside. Whether it was a good or a bad thing, Arthur wasn’t so sure.

Arthur lifted his right arm and flicked his wrist. He held up four fingers and made a fist. Leon, Gwaine, Elyan and Percival got into position and Merlin looked at him in a very confused way.

‘We’re getting in,’ Arthur mouthed, hoping Merlin’s obtuseness concerning his hand-signals didn’t expand to reading on lips. This was not the time for Merlin, Great Warlock at the Camelot court, to behave like an idiot.

Merlin nodded and Arthur sighed in relief. He closed his eyes in concentration and, with one sharp gesture, gave the go-ahead.

Everything happened very fast. They charged the little cabin and were restraining Morgana before she could even lift her hands or utter a curse. Merlin’s eyes were glowing, which meant that he was doing something to keep her magic in check.

But before Arthur agreed to Gwaine’s unspoken request to finish her off, he had to say something, to talk to her and have this last confirmation that she couldn’t be redeemed.

As he was approaching her, as careful as with a wounded beast, he heard an unearthly cry above them, something animal and wretched that distracted him and the others enough to let Morgana the time to produce a blinding and deadly light.

It was coming towards Arthur, but Merlin was too, and the light hit Merlin right in the chest. Arthur didn’t hear himself scream Merlin’s name as he was projected a few feet back. All he could hear was the hut crumbling around them.

While he was trying not to lose consciousness and to get to Merlin, he saw what had produced the cry. It was landing inside the hut through the blown-off roof, huge and white, menacing claws coming first.

Arthur gripped Excalibur and threw it at what looked like the ghost of a dragon. His arm was too sluggish from the shock of Morgana’s curse and the sword reached the beast’s emplacement one second too late. The dragon—yes, it _was_ a dragon—had already taken hold of Morgana and was flying away with another of its wretched cry.

Arthur tried to stand but stumbled. He crawled towards Merlin as fast as he could.

_Don’t be dead. Don’t be dead._

Arthur’s whole body hurt and he could see his faithful knights getting back on their feet and taking notice of their respective injuries. They didn’t seem too bad; they were all in one piece, with enough breath in their lungs to groan and moan. They looked all better than Merlin did.

When Arthur reached him, Merlin was paler than usual and his eyes were closed in pain, but he was breathing. He was breathing and Arthur could see no blood nor any sign of internal damage.

And then he opened his eyes and Arthur could see immediately the question there and the hope. But there was no hope anymore.

‘She’s gone, Merlin. Morgana escaped.’

Merlin didn’t answer; he just looked at Arthur with blank eyes and sweat drops rolling off his forehead.

‘Merlin? Merlin, are you all right? Can you hear me?’

Merlin shifted his head a little and Arthur was now close enough to see his imperceptible nod.

‘Can you talk, Merlin? Talk to me!’

Arthur knew he was not in a state a king should be, but he couldn’t help it. If he lost Merlin now, after losing Morgana, and his father, and his uncle…Arthur tried not to think about it. He pressed his head against Merlin’s limp body.

‘Please, Merlin, please…’ he whispered.

‘Don’t be a girl,’ Merlin said, his voice a little rough but as playful as it’d been all these mornings when it was still his task to wake Arthur up. ‘It’s not like I’m dead or anything…’

Arthur huffed, half in relief half in annoyance, and straightened up. When he looked into Merlin’s eyes again, he could see that despite his smile, Merlin was clearly still a bit in pain.

‘You could very well be dead,’ Arthur said seriously. ‘The thing Morgana hit you with blew up half her house. We need to get you to Gaius as soon as possible.’

Merlin’s lips turned down at this and he coughed a little before sitting up and saying, ‘I recognised the type of curse she hit me with. It is a slow-acting one, but there is nothing Gaius or anyone can do. I need to find Morgana and bring her back. She’s the only one who can…’ Merlin trailed off.

He was no doubt seeing Arthur’s aggravated expression, and maybe he could feel Arthur’s distress too, because he was soon concentrating his strength into gripping Arthur’s hand in his. ‘What’s wrong, Arthur? I can just use a localisation spell or something, I’ll be able to find her, don’t worry—’

Arthur was shaking his head now and he clutched Merlin’s hand harder. ‘She’s _gone_ , Merlin. She—she _flew away_ ,’ he emphasised, as if doubtful Merlin would believe him. But Merlin was the sorcerer; there certainly were only a few things he wouldn’t believe. ‘She flew away with a white dragon. She could already be hours away, by now.’

Merlin didn’t look as alarmed as Arthur felt and he looked more like the complete idiot Arthur had always thought he was than like a supposedly almighty sorcerer. Sometimes Arthur really didn’t know if he wanted to protect Merlin with his life or tear him to pieces.

‘What now, Merlin?’

‘Well,’ Merlin said, as sheepishly as he could in his present state, ‘there’s one thing I still haven’t told you about my being a sorcerer…’

Arthur raised his eyebrows and tried to gather all the patience he had left in his body. He was really sick of secrets and of people he completely trusted not trusting him back.

‘I…I kind of have a dragon, too, and I may or may not be the last Dragonlord. Morgana’s got some kind of hold on Aithusa right now, but we can chase her easily.’

Arthur sighed again. He wouldn’t even ask what _Aithusa_ was. Someday Merlin would really be the death of him. But he wasn’t completely useless, as he sensed Arthur’s irritation right away. Or maybe he was just used to it.

‘I can call the dragon right now and I’ll find Morgana in no time,’ Merlin hurried to say. ‘She must be very weak after the magic she just did—’

‘Nonsense, Merlin. You’re quite weak too, if you haven’t noticed. I’m obviously coming with you.’

‘But— You...you can’t! You’re the King! I might have to go very far away and you need to _be_ in Camelot. You need to—’

‘Stop trying to decide what I need or not and just, for once in your lifetime, do what I order you. You’re not fit to travel on your own, hardly even fit to travel at all. We don’t know the effects the curse is going to have. You saved my life, Merlin, once again. I cannot stay here and wonder if you’re dead yet.’

Merlin didn’t seem to have heard Arthur’s sound arguments at all, though, and was keeping on protesting and spluttering, ‘But what about Gwen? She’s your wife! She needs you to be next to her, you can’t go on a chase around the world without—’

‘Guinevere doesn’t need me right now,’ Arthur cut in again. ‘I trust her to take care of the Kingdom while we’re away. _You_ need me, Merlin. And _I_ need to help you. Besides, I think she’d hold it against me if I didn’t do everything in my power to save you.’

Merlin stood up, smiled reluctantly and nodded. It was obvious that if Arthur hadn’t been his King, Merlin would have found a way to shake him off.

‘Very well, but I’ve got to warn you: travel by dragon is not the most comfortable, and you’d better not be whining about the state of your royal arse.’

Arthur lightly hit Merlin behind the head for the first time of their long travel.

~

The first thing Arthur sees upon entering Storybrooke is the black and white insignia of the _Marine Garage_ in the distance. Thank God for small mercies, he was starting to doubt the town would be big enough to have a garage in it.

‘It seems luck’s with us after all, Merlin,’ he says, nudging Merlin with his elbow. ‘Maybe we’ll even be able to take the road again before the night.’

‘Are you serious?’ Merlin answers with the tone of someone who really doesn’t want Arthur to be serious. ‘Don’t you think we’ve been lost there long enough? I’d rather we don’t throw ourselves back into this American labyrinth anytime soon.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin! We’ll just have to ask local people for directions.’ Arthur knows he sounds a little too optimistic, but he really believes things will sort themselves out. Their Awesome Road Trip could resume very shortly and he’d rather go back to adventures and foreign discoveries than stay holed up in this tiny and boring-looking village.

Merlin doesn’t look too happy about it, but Arthur doesn’t worry. All right, maybe their trip hasn’t so far been as magical and exciting as he’d promised, but it is just a question of time. Once they are back on the right track, Merlin will be back to his joyous, smiling self. It is somehow very important to Arthur that Merlin would smile.

They have almost reached the garage when they get accosted by a blond woman with a frown. Well, maybe not _accosted_ , exactly, but her frown is very prominent, so it does look a little threatening.

‘Hello,’ she says. Her tone is not cold, really, but it is not overly friendly either. ‘I’m the town’s sheriff. Can I help you both with anything?’

‘Hm, no, thanks, we were just going to—’

‘Where are you from?’ she cuts in. She looks less and less like she wants to help them in any way, and more like she suspects them of wanting to implant a drug cartel in her little town.

‘We’re from the UK actually,’ Arthur answers good-naturedly. There is no way he’ll let himself get intimidated by this girl. He even decides to go for the kill and plasters his patented Pendragon Dazzling Smile on his face.

It is very rare anyone can resist such a smile, but this town’s sheriff definitely does. Her frown only deepens and she doesn’t wait more to ask another question.

‘And what business exactly do you have in Storybrooke?’ she asks, not realising she’s supposed to be Pendragon-Dazzled. Arthur can see Merlin trying not to laugh in the corner of his eye. Stupid wanker. Well, at least he does smile now.

This doesn’t stop Arthur from feeling hurt. ‘And what business exactly does the sheriff have, interrogating innocent people like they’re common felons? Do you treat all your visitors like that?’

‘Well, actually,’ someone says in a very young voice. Arthur looks down and sees a little boy with brown hair standing next to the sheriff. Arthur wonders if he has been there the whole time. ‘There are never any visitors in Storybrooke.’

While the statement is a bit incongruous, the breathy quality of the child’s voice at least indicates that Arthur’s not crazy; the boy’s just run here and Arthur was too preoccupied with his own indignation to notice his arrival. Arthur wants to dismiss him and go on lashing out at this sheriff-woman, but _of course_ soft-hearted (and most of the time soft-headed) Merlin has crouched next to the boy with an interested air.

‘What do you mean, there are never any visitors here? I see a Bed and Breakfast right there.’ Merlin points to the aforementioned building and Arthur wonders why Merlin even bothers discussing this point when they’ve got a blond sheriff scowling at them.

The woman seems to be on the same page as Arthur though, because when he looks up at her, he sees she’s looking at the boy the same way he must have been looking at Merlin: a little annoyed, but mostly fond. ‘Maybe we never get any visitors, Henry,’ she says to the child, ‘but these two gentlemen really seem to be _just passing_.’

Her last words are loaded with something very insistent that Arthur can’t decipher but that seems crystal clear to this Henry-boy. The latter raises his eyebrows half in surprise half in inquiry and Arthur decides he doesn’t have time for this.

‘Look here, I don’t care if you’re the sheriff or if this child his your deputy or whatnot, but I’ve got a car in a really bad state on the side of the road and all I want is to have your car mechanic take a look at it. Or maybe I need to fill out immigration papers to have the right to simply walk down your main street?’

Arthur knows getting angry won’t help his cause, but Henry just keeps looking at him with interest—and with absolutely no fear of the mad British man—so it mustn’t be too bad yet.

‘Are you really from abroad?’ Henry asks them, as if he has never known there is a world outside his town. _Americans_ , Arthur thinks unkindly, rolling his eyes behind his sunglasses; these people really think they’re the beginning and the end to everything, don’t they?

Arthur wants to just ignore the boy’s question, but Merlin is still crouched next to Henry and seems to have decided to bond with the kid. ‘We’re from the UK, we swear,’ he says with an amused smile. ‘Can’t you hear it from our accent?’

This playful tone of Merlin’s really grates Arthur’s nerves without him really knowing why. Maybe it’s just that he wants Merlin to be on _his_ side, to talk next to _his_ face and to smile at _him_ like he does right now. Why is the crinkle of Merlin’s eyes never addressed to Arthur?

‘Well, the accent doesn’t really mean anything,’ Henry says. ‘Mr Gold’s got a Scottish accent, but he’s been here as long as everybody.’

Arthur frowns and Merlin opens his mouth, no doubt to ask what Henry means exactly, but the blond sheriff says, ‘Henry!’ very sternly and after a brief sheepish look, the boy turns his attention to her.

They seem to communicate by looks for a full half-minute and Arthur wants to take an un-crouched Merlin by the elbow and just go to the garage, but the sheriff addresses them again.

‘There’s no problem for you to be here, _of course_ ,’ she says, looking into Arthur’s eyes but not really convincing him. ‘Marco will help you with the car. If you’ve got any problem, come to the police station, I’ll be sure to give you a hand.’

 _As if_ , Arthur thinks right away. The woman really doesn’t give him the impression that she’ll help them in any way—more that she’ll find any reason to put them behind bars.

‘I’m Henry, by the way,’ the kid says. ‘And this is Emma.’

Arthur thinks the presentations are coming a little late and he’s already angling his body to leave, but Merlin answers as if their interaction so far had been the perfect model of politeness. ‘I’m Merlin,’ he says, ‘and this is—’

And then this very, very weird thing happens: at the exact same time Merlin pronounces the word, Henry says ‘Arthur’ with a wide smile and a meaningful look towards Sheriff Emma. This makes her frown almost as much as it makes Arthur frown, but doesn’t seem to affect Merlin much.

Arthur really thought they were done with this useless questioning, but the sheriff, it seems, has one more thing to say.

‘And you say you’re English.’ She sounds half-doubtful, half like she wants to make a joke about their names.

Arthur wants to answer this one, and to be as cutting as he can in his answer, but Merlin cuts him off. ‘We said we were _British_ , actually, not _English_. We come from Wales.’ His tone is as friendly as ever, but it seems to shock Emma more than it would have if Arthur had answered the question the way he wanted.

Arthur grabs Merlin by the arm and uses the sheriff’s distraction to make for the garage. He doesn’t pay Emma or Henry more attention, but he swears he can hear Henry say ‘Told you’ in a very knowing and annoying way.

Arthur doesn’t know how the kid knew his name and what he’s implying about them, and doesn’t want to know. Whatever Merlin might think, they’ll never be out of this town soon enough.

~

Merlin had actually no good reason not to want Arthur with him on this chase. This didn’t mean he didn’t have reasons at all.

Because riding a dragon might be uncomfortable for the reason he’d told Arthur—and Merlin had never felt his legs so sore riding Kilgharrah before—but riding a dragon with Arthur’s arms wrapped around him was even worse.

Merlin was trying very hard not to let himself sink into those arms, and it was one of the most difficult things he’d ever done (and he counted having to poison one of his best friends). He had known this would happen, that was why he didn’t want Arthur to come with him after Morgana, or on any quest.

Ever since Arthur had married Gwen, Merlin had tried his best to keep him at arm’s length. Because Merlin had always known Arthur wasn’t for him, but his marriage to Gwen made him _forbidden_.

And this made things really dangerous, because it just made Merlin want Arthur even more, which was completely irrational really, since Merlin had been one of the most fervent to root for Arthur and Gwen to marry as quickly as possible. He had sincerely thought that once they were married, his stupid crush on his King would resolve itself.

Arthur’s palms pressed against his sides just proved him once more that it hadn’t worked at all. It made Merlin feel even worse, because Gwen was his friend, and he really wanted to be happy for her and not to lust after her husband, not _falling in love_ with him.

‘Are we getting closer?’ Arthur asked sharply, for what must have been the hundredth time.

Merlin would have snapped, or said something disparaging about Arthur behaving like a child, but the undertone in his voice was so worried that Merlin just answered as he always answered: ‘I’ll ask him.’

Kilgharrah had been, needless to say, _very_ reluctant to let a Pendragon ride on his back. Merlin had been lucky enough to have the sense to remind the dragon that he couldn’t reasonably separate two sides of the same coin. One thing Kilgharrah hadn’t accepted to do though was to speak to Arthur. So much so that the king wasn’t even aware Kilgharrah understood human language.

‘ _Answer his question, then_ ,’ Merlin said in dragon-tongue. ‘ _I’m quite tired of being your unnecessary interpret_.’

Kilgharrah’s reaction felt almost like the dragon version of a chuckle, and all his body trembled. Arthur tightened his grip on Merlin’s waist and Merlin was tempted to kick the dragon on the flank. If only his legs didn’t feel so heavy right now.

‘ _It is my belief that you are tired from far more serious ailments, young warlock_ ,’ Kilgharrah answered. ‘ _As for our target, we’re no longer as far as we’ve been. Aithusa might have found a way to escape his Dragonlord’s hold, but he is still a youngling, and my power exceeds his own._ ’

‘We’ll get to her soon,’ Merlin told Arthur, not worried how much of the dragon’s words got lost in translation.

Arthur relaxed his hold on Merlin somewhat, and Merlin could feel tension leaving his own body too. They’d been in this position for too long and he wished they could at least take some breaks to stretch their legs, but they hadn’t seen anything but water below them for a long time. Merlin wished Arthur’s breath on his neck didn’t feel so natural and that his presence behind him wasn’t so much like a second skin.

Even Merlin’s magic, which had been providing them with first necessities for the duration of their travel, was behaving with Arthur more comfortably than what was appropriate.

It was wrapping itself all around Arthur the same way Arthur’s arms were around Merlin when a sudden movement from Arthur jolted Merlin out of his daze. The movement—a sharp shake of his head—was soon followed by Arthur’s loud and enthusiastic voice: ‘Land! I can see land!’

Merlin looked down. He could see land, too, and how beautiful it was: great expanses of greens and greys and the warm browns of autumn. And if he squinted a little he could see something else too, a small stain of pure white on this explosion of colours.

‘Aithusa,’ Merlin said quietly.

‘ _I see him too, young warlock_ ,’ Kilgharrah answered his untold question.‘ _He must have tired of the long flight…_ ’

‘ _Or maybe Morgana has reached her destination._ ’

Merlin was more scared of that than of anything, because it meant she had a plan, and wasn’t just acting wildly, doing everything she could to escape Emrys. It meant it could very well be a trap and Merlin didn’t have the upper hand as much as he would have liked.

And really, looking at things as they were now, with Merlin and Arthur in the air, in plain sight on a giant dragon, and Morgana hidden in the undergrowth of unknown lands, their only luck would be for Morgana not to notice they were following her. Merlin’s magic had absolutely no way to reach her. Arthur seemed to sense it too. Merlin could feel the muscles of Arthur’s arms and legs contracting the same way they were doing right before battle.

Merlin was going to say something, he didn’t know what—maybe something comforting, maybe a warning—when he got cut off by a flash of light flying just past them. It was only the sharp movement of Kilgharrah’s left wing that deflected it.

Merlin had recognised the light as the same curse he had been hit with back in Morgana’s hut, and hoped the dragon’s skin was thick enough to resist it.

All the hopes Merlin could have seemed foolish though, because the next curse came spiralling right to them and the only way for them to avoid being hit was either to jump off Kilgharrah’s back or—

Kilgharrah flipped abruptly, positioning his body as if standing on his hind legs on a cloud, and Merlin just had the time to utter a spell to allow them to keep their grip on the dragon before Kilgharrah was hit right in the centre of his big scaled belly.

Everything went too fast for Merlin to apprehend, then. Kilgharrah was not responsive anymore and they were hurled down by gravity and the force of the shock. Merlin’s magic was taking free reigns, slowing them, lightening them, and, mostly, checking that Arthur was all right and sticking him inalterably to Merlin’s back.

Merlin wasn’t sure it was enough though, because Morgana kept throwing her curses at them and Merlin could deflect some of them, but most ended up crashing against Kilgharrah’s scales, which didn’t help their situation at all.

When they finally hit the ground, it was almost a relief to no longer tumble in the air from one shock to the other. It was still painful though; they landed on trees and sharp rocks and even if Kilgharrah took the brunt of it all, Merlin could still feel blood wetting his tunic—his and Arthur’s. Merlin’s came from a long gash on the back of his left arm, and if the pain was intense, it was nothing next to the burning sensation he felt in all his articulations.

Merlin rolled from Kilgharrah’s back to the dirt and was tempted to let his eyes fall shut and his mind drift into oblivion.

But he wasn’t let the chance to get any rest. Only a few seconds passed before he was shaken by strong hands, Arthur’s panicked cries ringing inside his head.

Arthur’s face appeared in his field of vision and before the king’s shouting of ‘ _Merlin! Merlin! Merlin!_ ’ could register, all Merlin could focus on was the huge amounts of blood running down the side of Arthur’s face and reddening his blond strands of hair.

Merlin sat up and cleared his head, and Arthur relaxed a little. The pain Merlin was feeling all over was dulling a little now, making every gesture more bearable.

Merlin reached for the magical strength he had left to clean and close Arthur’s head wound and as an answer to Arthur’s stern look, did the same to his own arm.

They both stood up after a little while and took in their surroundings.

Kilgharrah was lying on his side, his huge and limp form crushed against bent trees. He was completely unmoving. Even if Merlin had known there was no way for the dragon to survive the assault that had just happened, he still felt the deepest shock at the realisation that Kilgharrah wouldn’t be moving anymore.

Something cracked inside Merlin’s chest and even with Arthur standing just behind him, he felt a wave of loneliness crashing into him. Kilgharrah had been far from being a _friend_ to Merlin, but had been a true ally and had died saving their lives—he’d always been there when Merlin needed him. Losing Kilgharrah was a little like losing hope.

Merlin approached his big snout and stroked it lightly. His dark eyes were still open, but depressingly expressionless.

Merlin closed his eyes and attempted to say something, but words—human and dragon words alike—stuck inside his throat.

‘Let’s go Merlin,’ Arthur said softly, after a little while.

And so they went.

~

‘You people were far closer from the town than you thought,’ the mechanic, whose name Merlin thinks is Marco, says with a smile. ‘Through the forest, we’re, I’d say, what? Five minutes from the town? And if you were coming this way, as you said, it seems you were more or less circling the town for some time, boys. It’s a wonder you didn’t find us sooner…’

This statement really doesn’t feel right with Merlin, and there’s an unease at the bottom of his stomach almost as bothering as the pain in his bones. It may or may not come from Arthur’s smug smile.

‘Incredible, Merlin! You managed to make us turn round and round.’

‘I did not!’ Merlin protests part because there’s no way he wouldn’t have noticed something so big and part because he _has_ to disagree with Arthur when his tone is so conceited. ‘And _you_ certainly didn’t realise anything either!’

‘No matter, Merlin. You were the one driving and supposed to pay attention to the road signs.’

Merlin splutters at Arthur’s hypocrisy, but it’s clear the only goal of Arthur’s insistence is to infuriate Merlin and watch him squirm, so he tries to ignore it.

‘After all these miles for nothing, you’ll be paying the fuel in full, next time we stop for gas,’ Arthur says with a playful tone, but very serious in his threat.

It’s more a question of principles than money, of course, and that’s what grates on Merlin’s nerves the most, because even when he’s wrong, Arthur _always_ has to act so self-righteous about everything.

(Or maybe— _maybe—_ what bothers Merlin more than anything is that despite how frustratingly annoying Arthur can be, Merlin still wants to kiss him more than he wants to punch him. And he wants to punch him _a lot_.)

‘What I can definitely tell you, boys,’ Marco the mechanic says, ignoring their bickering, ‘is that this car is not going to be able to drive you anywhere any time soon.’

‘What do you mean?’ Arthur demands importantly, and Merlin feels obligated to smile apologetically at Marco, because it sure sounds like Arthur’s accusing him for whatever happened to The Dragon.

‘What I mean, boy, is that the only way your car is salvageable is by changing the engine almost entirely. And this can take…what? At least one week for all the pieces to arrive, and minimum two full days of work for me to make sure your car is good to go. And keep in mind that I’ve got other things to do, too.’

Merlin sighs. He knows this kind of declaration won’t go well with Arthur and he’s not wrong: when he turns to him, Arthur has already brandished his phone and his stomping his foot angrily muttering about Americans and renting companies and _bloody_ insurances. He doesn’t get to get into any rant though, because only a few seconds later, he snaps his Smartphone shut angrily and pushes it back inside his trousers’ pocket.

‘It seems as though we’re stuck here then, Merlin,’ Arthur says with gritted teeth and barely-controlled anger.

Fifteen minutes later, they’re at the town’s lone accommodation’s reception desk, and Arthur is ready to throw another fit.

‘What do you mean, you’ve got only one room left? The little kid told us you never got any visitors!’

Merlin sighs and tries to smile to the old lady as warmly as possible. It sure is going to be hard, managing to keep these people from throwing them out of the town, with the way Arthur is acting ever since they arrived.

‘No, we don’t get a lot of visitors, _Sir_ ,’ the lady—whose badge says _Granny_ , but there’s no way Merlin can call her that without his own Gran turning in her grave—says with as much deference as Arthur is showing her (that is to say, not at all). ‘Hence the small number of rooms. And the other one is presently occupied, so you can share the one left or you can leave and stop wasting my time,’ she says with a threatening undertone that Merlin doesn’t like at all.

‘Oh, we’ll share, no problem!’ Merlin hurries to say, as conciliatory as possible, before Arthur can worsen their situation and make them sleep in their broken car.

Merlin doesn’t think his articulations could ever stand another night cramped in the cold, as sore as they already feel. There’s nothing he needs more than a good night sleep in a nice warm bed, and even if the prospect of lying inches from Arthur without being able to touch him is nightmarish, he owes it to his body.

The old lady smiles back at Merlin and hands him the key number two, completely ignoring Arthur as she informs Merlin about breakfast and check out time.

Merlin thanks her profusely and lets Arthur deal with most of the luggage. He considers that the prat owes him at least as much.

Merlin already has his head buried in one of the fluffiest pillow ever when Arthur brings the last backpack in the room and the last thing he hears before giving up to sleep is Arthur mentioning either a long shower or thong power.

He wakes up feeling stiff all over. His joints ache as much as before his nap, so there’s no surprise when he doesn’t manage to catch the take-away bag Arthur is throwing at him, resulting in a splatter of brown sauce on his favourite t-shirt. There’s not much more damage done, except maybe a rib Arthur is certainly cracking, what with his hysterical laughing.

Merlin sits up with difficulty and glares half-heartedly at Arthur, whose laughter finally dies down when he realises eating his daily gargantuan portion of food is more important than mocking Merlin.

‘You won’t sleep a wink tonight, Merlin. After such a long nap, you’ll fidget all night and keep _me_ from sleeping,’ Arthur says between mouthfuls of meatballs sandwich, managing to still look distinguished despite his ogre-like diet.

Merlin unwraps his sandwich, careful of the spilt sauce, and he is too busy feeling pain with each move of his fingers to answer Arthur’s scolding. The prat is wrong anyway: there’s no way Merlin will be able to fidget during the night. All he wants right now is eating and going back to sleep.

‘I bought these at the diner. It’s owned by the same old hag as here, but she wasn’t there. Anyway, you should have seen it, Merlin: they all looked at me as if I was an alien invading their finest dining establishment. I think we’re the first foreigners they’ve seen in a very long time. My theory is they don’t have any telly here and we’re their sole entertainment. Maybe we should do something very foolish in public, just for their sake. Merlin, are you listening to me?’

Merlin glances up. Arthur has finished his sandwich and is looking at him half-worried, half-annoyed. Merlin only listened distractedly to his spiel, busy as he was swallowing a few mouthfuls of his sandwich, which is very tasty but feels impossible for his jaw to chew properly.

‘Are you all right, Merlin? Because you really don’t look it.’ Arthur’s tone is a hundred percent worried now, and even though he’s pleased to know he can provoke something else than annoyance and mockery in Arthur, Merlin’s bones hurt too much for him to enjoy the moment.

‘I’m just a bit under the weather, is all. I think I’m gonna go back to sleep,’ Merlin mumbles. He sets his sandwich on his bedside table, lays back down and closes his eyes, but he still feels as if each and every one of his bones is on fire.

‘You’re such a girl, Merlin,’ Arthur says with only a ghost of his usual derisive tone. Merlin can hear in his voice that it is just his attempt at making light of the situation.

There’s silence for a moment, the only sounds in the room Merlin’s louder-than-normal breath and a rustle of clothes, and then Merlin can feel the mattress dip next to him and Arthur’s warmth, soft against his back.

They’re both still for some time and then suddenly, Merlin can feel Arthur’s breath next to his ear. ‘You’ll be fine, won’t you, Merlin?’ His words are very quiet and for a moment Merlin is convinced that it’s only his imagination playing with him, but when the same voice adds a breathy, ‘You’d better be or I’ll leave you here to rot alone,’ Merlin definitely knows it’s real.

Merlin drifts off with Arthur’s reassuring arm against his back, and if it doesn’t take the pain away, at least it tries

~

 _I’ll find him._  
  
 _I’ll find him_ , that’s what Snow had to tell herself to withstand the pain. She tried thinking about her own strength and about how much she  _loathed_  the queen, but he was the only thing that worked. He was the only thing that could render the lashes and the burns and the blows bearable.  _I’ll find him_ , she thought,  _and I’ll save him_.  
  
The queen was smiling at first, laughing at her and goading her into trying to defend herself, but she didn’t anymore. She could see that Snow was screaming less and less and that each new hit, each new torturous idea worked less than the one before. The queen could see that instead of breaking like she wanted her to, Snow was getting stronger and stronger. Maybe not physically, but that was not the only strength that mattered.  
  
And then, suddenly, it all stopped. Snow opened her eyes when she heard the knife the queen had been about to use on her clatter on the stone floor.  
  
The queen had her back turned on her and was engaged in a staring contest with a woman whom Snow had never seen before and who appeared to have just barged in from the window.  
  
Snow didn’t give the woman very long to live.  
  
Her appearance only was worth all of the queen’s fury. The shabby quality of her clothes and the mess her hair put aside, the whiteness of her skin and the blackness of her hair—so similar to Snow’s—were enough to warrant a death sentence, if not worse.  
  
The woman was obviously not aware of her situation though, because she was still standing tall and proud, her pale eyes fixing the queen and alight with self-assurance.  
  
‘Your majesty,’ the stranger greeted with a low bow.  
  
‘Morgana,’ the queen answered sharply. ‘I’m afraid I cannot reciprocate the title now, can I?’  
  
The woman’s—Morgana’s—stare hardened, and it seemed the queen had hit a raw nerve.  
  
They knew each other, then. At least, Snow was lucky they didn’t seem friends enough to decide to perform a show of synchronised torture on her.  
  
‘What brings you here, my dear?’ the queen went on, very conversationally. Morgana glanced at where Snow was chained up, but the queen acted as if Snow was nothing else but an ugly painting she had learned to put up with. ‘Has your charming sister let you out of her sight at last?’  
  
‘She had to; she died more than a year ago,’ Morgana answered with a flat voice.  
  
‘Did she, now?’ the queen asked with obvious disinterest. ‘Pity, that. She was so much more interesting than you.’  
  
Snow could almost see the protest being bitten back by Morgana.  
  
‘Will you tell me why you came, or did you travel this far just to annoy me?’ the queen asked with always the same bored tone.  
  
Morgana straightened herself and said, with as much pomposity as she was able, ‘I come here to offer my magical strength as an ally against your enemies.’  
  
‘Ha!’ the queen exclaimed without humour. ‘You call it offering to be my ally, I call it begging for my protection.’  
  
Morgana’s face fell and Snow wondered if maybe it wasn’t better to be the queen’s enemy than to be her friend.  
  
‘I don’t need your weak magic,’ the queen went on, uncaring. ‘I’ve got all the magic I need. If you want me to help you, you’ll have to offer more than this.’  
  
‘My magic is stronger than it used to be, and I do have something I’m sure you’d be interested in.’ Morgana had regained her self-assurance and was now smirking very ostentatiously. ‘Aithusa!’  
  
Snow didn’t have time to wonder what this word meant before a white creature appeared on the windowsill, with a deafening cry sounding half like a growl and half like a wail, making her shiver all over.  
  
‘A dragon!’ Morgana barked quite haughtily, provoking another cry from the white dragon, as if in assent.  
  
The queen was still not impressed though. ‘A  _baby_  dragon, you mean. I’m sure it’s as useful as a big pigeon at this stage!’  
  
Snow saw something flicker in Morgana’s eyes and knew she wouldn’t hold her anger anymore. It seemed the queen could insult her and her dead sister, but her dragon was out of bounds.  
  
‘I’ll show you how useful my dragon can be!’ she screamed, some of her wild locks flying around her head. ‘Aithusa!’  
  
The dragon answered her command right away and came to crouch before her, facing Snow and the queen with a threatening glint in its dark eyes Snow didn’t like at all. It took flight and took aim with only a few seconds in-between, leaving the queen barely enough time to raise a magical shield to protect herself against a literal wave of fire.  
  
All Snow could do against the onslaught, chained as she was, was to turn her head and hope the queen’s shield would block the flames’ way towards her. She could feel almost unbearable heat and had to picture James’s face in her head to keep from whimpering.  
  
It seemed Snow was very lucky though, because as the queen, who finally lost her calm, riposted to the dragon’s attack, and the two witches started throwing spells at each other without sparing one glance towards her, she could feel on her right wrist sweat mixing with a bit of iron that had been melted by the heat.  
  
In her head, James was smiling encouragingly at her. She could do this, she knew she could.  
  
It seemed to take ages, but it must have been barely minutes before she managed to slip her right hand out of her shackle. With one hand free, the three other constraints seemed almost easy.  
  
The magic battle was still going strong in the middle of the room, and she waited for the queen to be thrown against a wall by a gust of wind produced by Morgana to make a break for the window. It was several feet high and impossible to use as an escape without the very convenient help of a dragon, but there was a tree not so far away and in the few seconds she had to think, Snow knew that if she jumped  _just so_ , she could catch one of the highest branches and hopefully not break her neck.  
  
She held her breath and went for it. She managed to reach the branch with the tip of her fingers, but lost it almost right away. She plummeted for a few unending seconds before managing to cling to another protruding branch. She didn’t have the time to sigh, though. She knew she was quite visible from the queen’s window and she needed to get as far away from there as possible.   
  
She climbed down the tree quickly and ran to bury herself in the safety of the forest. She ran and ran and ran, not knowing where she was going or whether she left a horrendous trail behind her. She didn’t have time to stop, she didn’t have time to think, or she would lose the strength to go further.  
  
She ran a very long time, and when she felt not only too exhausted to go on but also safe enough to stop, she leant back against the nearest tree and tried to find back the breath she’d lost.  
  
And then she felt hands grabbing her shoulders and covering her mouth; pain blossomed in her skull and everything went black.  
  
~  
  
Arthur wakes up with his nose buried in thick dark hair and Merlin tucked tightly between his arms. He would love to think it is a surprise how much he enjoys holding Merlin this way, but he feels—if he is truly honest with himself—as if he’s always known how pleasant it would feel, as if his arms were made just the right shape to be holding Merlin in them.  
  
He inhales deeply and can smell all the various little scents that make Merlin who he is. Merlin’s skin is smooth under his fingers and, in a very impulsive gesture, he approaches his mouth to Merlin’s oversized ear and kisses just behind it. He feels something akin to elation exploding in his belly just at the thought that he could do it again, and that maybe Merlin would turn to him and look at him with his blue, blue eyes and smile his goofy smile. His lips would be stretched and his eyes crinkled, and he would lean towards Arthur and kiss him first on the swell of his cheekbone and then right on the mouth.  
  
Arthur can picture it all, with the bed-hair and the dried saliva at the corner of Merlin’s mouth and rather than feeling revolted, he just feels profoundly happy.  
  
He basks in this warm feeling for a few moments before the thought of Gwen comes abruptly and unbidden, churning something nasty in his guts. He opens his eyes hastily and tries to loosen his grip on Merlin’s waist the more delicately possible. He’s really not ready for Merlin to wake up yet; he’s lucky as it is that Merlin hasn’t woken up yet.  
  
Arthur sits up and tries to shake the confusion away, but it’s very hard when Gwen’s smile is all hazy in his head and Merlin’s skin looks so nice and soft. He tries to rationalise that he’s seen a lot of Merlin recently, and that he’s the only person he knows on this whole continent, so it must be completely normal that Arthur finds himself getting closer to him. And as he was already very close to Merlin before this trip—them being best mates and all—it’s only normal that the closeness would translate this way. Isn’t it?  
  
He’s heard a lot of stories about people being mates forever and then falling in bed or in love with each other. But these stories usually pertain to people of two different genders, and this… _thing_  he feels for Merlin, this is not about sex, and  _definitely_  not about love. This must be only a passing fancy, something he had to experience before tying the knot, and it doesn’t mean anything at all.  
  
The only thing he feels for Merlin is a very strong friendship, and the only reason he felt a little cuddly waking up is that he hasn’t seen Gwen in a long while, that’s all. Maybe it was even the consequence of a dream about her. Except the only thing he remembers about his dream is very dark hair, so this doesn’t help at all.  
  
He decides the best thing he can do right now is having a shower, so he gets off the bed and heads for the en suite. When he comes back to their bedroom, Merlin is still asleep.  
  
‘C’mon Merlin!’ Arthur says in a sing-song voice, slipping inside a fresh set of clothes. ‘Aren’t you tired of sleeping yet? I know there is not a lot to do in this town, but you’ve got to get up and face the day! Aren’t you hungry, at least? You barely ate yester—’  
  
Arthur cuts off when he realises that, despite how loud and obnoxious he is, Merlin still hasn’t moved an inch. Something definitely isn’t right, and the churning in his guts is back with a vengeance. Arthurs comes up to Merlin’s side of the bed carefully, his heart beating a little too fast, a little too loud.  
  
He lays his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and shakes it gently at first. He then shakes harder and harder, but it’s only when he starts screaming Merlin’s name at the same time that Merlin starts showing any sign of being alive. He’s moaning very quietly and Arthur can’t believe it but he’s so relieved and so anxious at the same time that he wants to kiss Merlin—again—and slap him at the same time. None of these urges win though, and all he can do is approach his face a little closer.  
  
‘What’s wrong, Merlin? Tell me what’s wrong!’  
  
‘I don’t feel very well,’ Merlin says in a whisper, his voice breathy and barely audible.  
  
‘Don’t worry, Merlin. I’m getting you to a doctor right now,’ Arthur asserts as decisively as he can, which is not a lot: he can feel his legs ready to give way anytime now.  
  
Everything that happens after that, Arthur lives it in a panicked haze. He remembers going to find the old lady and asking her where he can find a doctor, but he has no idea how he ends up in the backseat of a rusty old car with a very rigid Merlin in his lap or how they finally— _finally!_ —reach the town’s small hospital and Merlin is taken from his trembling arms by a blond man in a white coat.  
  
Then, Arthur spends a very long time in the hospital’s waiting room, alternatively slumped in one of their old chair and frantically pacing the short distance from the door to the window.  
  
A kind-looking nurse eventually allows him to go and see Merlin, but once he’s standing beside his bed, he can’t really see Merlin. All he can see is a pale boy with all kinds of tubes protruding from every part of his body. Arthur wouldn’t even know that Merlin is alive if a beeping machine wasn’t telling him.  
  
‘Is he—is he gonna die?’ Arthur stutters, the words coming out of his mouth very painfully.  
  
When no response is forthcoming, Arthur looks up to see the blond doctor hesitating, almost fidgeting. The look on his face makes Arthur angry, but he doesn’t have the strength to yell at him and demand an answer.  
  
‘What has your friend told you about his malady, Mr Pendragon?’ the doctor asks with a soft but stern tone. Arthur has no idea how to answer this question. Merlin hasn’t told him anything at all. Or if he has, Arthur can’t remember. At this point, he doesn’t even remember telling his name to this doctor.  
  
The doctor—Dr Whale, Arthur finally manages to concentrate enough to read his nametag—seems to sense Arthur’s distress, so he goes on without forcing Arthur to admit how helpless he feels. ‘Your friend Merlin is at a very advanced stage of a very rare bone disease. We found an empty medicine bottle in his pocket, which leads us to believe he was very much aware of it.’  
  
Dr Whale’s words reach Arthur’s brain but he doesn’t feel like he is able to process them. Bone disease? Advanced stage? Medicine bottle? They’ve been on this road trip for weeks, and Arthur hasn’t seen Merlin swallowing a pill even once. Why would he hide such a thing? Arthur is his best friend; Merlin should tell him everything—especially something this important.  
  
‘We think Merlin knew he was going to die, Mr Pendragon. And we think he was ready for it to happen,’ Dr Whale says in a very professionally adequate voice. But even the most professionally adequate of voices can’t stop Arthur’s knees from buckling. He grips the edge of Merlin’s bed in his fall and finds himself with his nose pressed against Merlin’s side, only separated from his skin by the standard-issued rough cotton sheet.  
  
He inhales sharply but can’t smell anything of Merlin’s scent, all he can smell, everywhere around him, everywhere, is the chemical odour of hospital and sickness and death.  
  
The atmosphere of the place is slowly constricting his lungs, and he knows he can’t stay there, next to a dying Merlin, without completely losing his mind.  
  
He gets up and walks the fastest he can without running (or falling). He needs to get out, he needs fresh air and, above all, he needs to know that he can do something to keep Merlin from dying, that he can save him.  
  
He doesn’t really watch where he’s going, the need to run away stronger than anything. He opens a door, turns in one narrow corridor then another and when he finds himself lost in the surprising maze such a small hospital can contain, he has to laugh hysterically, because if he can get lost that easily, it’s no wonder they found themselves stranded in this bloody town in the first place.  
  
And it was his fault; of course it was his fault. He knows it and Merlin knows it too, but Arthur never acknowledged it aloud, and what if Merlin dies before Arthur can tell him how sorry he is?  
  
He opens the first door he can reach without thinking twice about it and suddenly Merlin only becomes an afterthought, because he is faced with the last thing he ever expected to see in this hospital, in this town, hell, in this country, even!  
  
Here, dressed in a tattered and dirty hospital gown, sits Morgana, his half-sister who ran away from home at age seventeen and whom Arthur never thought he’d ever see again.  
  
~  
  
‘This definitely is  _not_  Morgana,’ Merlin said, allowing himself to be smug for once. It was not every day Arthur, King of Camelot, made a complete fool of himself with no outside influence whatsoever. ‘I’d think you’d be able to recognise your own sister!’  
  
‘ _Half_ -sister,’ Arthur corrected in a growl. ‘And this girl was coming very fast and in the dark of this forest, anybody would have made the same confusion, with her dark hair and pale skin.’  
  
‘Well,  _I_  have dark hair and pale skin too,’ Merlin said with a large grin. ‘And you don’t wait about for assaulting  _me_ in the woods.’ The words had escaped Merlin’s mouth before he could properly think them over, and the image of Arthur assaulting him in the woods in a very, very different way came unbidden, making his cheeks particularly hot.  
  
Luckily, Arthur was still crouched over the girl he’d knocked unconscious and didn’t seem to notice Merlin’s embarrassment. ‘I’d never confuse you with Morgana,’ Arthur said gruffly. ‘There’s something very distinctive about her chest that you lack desperately, Merlin.’ He glanced towards Merlin with a leer and Merlin couldn’t help rolling his eyes. Sometimes, the future Ruler of Albion could be very immature.  
  
‘Well,’ Merlin mused, looking at the girl from above Arthur’s shoulder. ‘She’s not nearly as well-endowed as Morgana either, maybe you should have confused her with  _me_ , then.’  
  
‘Except that you were already with me, Merlin, your logic is absolutely flawless,’ Arthur answered with a bit of irritation starting to transpire in his voice. If it was irritation at Merlin or at the girl’s stubborn refusal to wake up, Merlin couldn’t say for sure.  
  
‘Maybe you killed her,’ he suggested idly.  
  
‘Of course I didn’t kill her!’ Arthur stood up and faced Merlin with a clenched jaw and a throbbing vein on his temple. ‘Could you stop being a smart-arse and try to help, maybe? You’re the bloody warlock, after all, can’t you just magic her awake?’  
  
‘Oh, if it’s asked so nicely, of course! I didn’t do it earlier only because I wanted you to shout at me!’ Merlin yelled back. ‘I can control the skies, I can wield the elements, but I  _don’t_  have healing powers, if you remember correctly. Because if I had, we wouldn’t have to run after Morgana and try to make her cure me now, would we?’  
  
‘Shut  _up_!’ a hoarse voice demanded from the direction of the ground.  
  
Arthur and Merlin turned their attention towards the girl and could see her slowly trying to sit up.  
  
‘Are you all right, Milady?’ Arthur asked in his most king-ish—that was to say, his most prat-ish—voice. ‘I would like to deeply apologise for the inconvenient I caused. It was not my intention to harm you at all, and I sure hope we can part ways in the most agreeable terms possible.’  
  
Merlin rolled his eyes at the pompous tone. He could see the girl was as unimpressed as he was. She glanced at him and seemed to recognise in Merlin a like-minded interlocutor, because she raised her eyebrows and asked him, ‘Who  _is_  this guy?’  
  
Merlin ignored Arthur’s affronted look as he helped the girl get up, and tried to smooth things out a little. ‘He’s the King Arthur of Camelot and I’m Merlin, the Court Sorcerer.’  
  
‘Nice to meet you, my name is Snow. I’m afraid I can’t quite equal your fancy titles.’ Merlin could almost hear the  _anymore_  at the end of her sentence, but didn’t force the subject. Even with their own fancy titles, they were not there on a diplomatic visit.  
  
‘I don’t think our “fancy titles” will help us much where we are today though. And I’m really sorry I knocked you out,’ Arthur said conciliatorily. Merlin could hear the sincerity in his voice and he couldn’t help the little wave of pride in his chest.  _This_  was the real Arthur, the one who deserved to be king.  
  
‘You’re still a sorcerer though, aren’t you?’ Snow asked Merlin, something wistful in her expression. Merlin nodded and it seemed to be the response she awaited because her stance suddenly became almost self-important as she said, ‘I heard you were talking about someone called Morgana. Are you looking for her?’  
  
‘We are,’ Merlin answered carefully. ‘Do you know where she is?’  
  
‘It’s a question of life or death,’ Arthur added, very serious.  
  
‘I know where you can find her,’ Snow declared, and a huge weight suddenly lifted from Merlin’s chest. Maybe they still had a chance. He glanced at Arthur and could see his own relief reflected on his king’s face. ‘But I need your help with something first.’  
  
‘What! I told you it was a question of life or death!’ Arthur was getting angry, and this time, Merlin really couldn’t blame him. ‘Merlin might die! Can’t we help you  _after_  we’ve found Morgana?’  
  
‘I know where she is and with whom, and I know how dangerous it is to get to her! I don’t want you two to die before you can help me. You’re the best chance I have at finding  _him_.’ Her voice cracked on her last word, and Merlin could feel desperation coming from her in waves.  
  
‘And what if we die helping  _you_?’ Arthur asked, suspicion laced in his voice.  
  
‘Then we’re all dead,’ Snow answered flatly, her voice deeper than before.  
  
They didn’t have a choice, Merlin realised. Snow was their only lead to find Morgana. Without her, they didn’t know how long it would take to ever find their way in this strange land. Merlin’s tracking charms were useless in an environment he didn’t know, as was Arthur’s orientation sense.  
  
Arthur must have been thinking the same, because before Merlin knew it, he had agreed to Snow’s terms and they were shaking hands. ‘What is it you need us for?’  
  
They started walking, and as they did, Snow explained everything about James and King George and the Evil Queen and Merlin thought that wherever they went, the relations between politics and magic were never easy.  
  
The walk through forests and grassy plains and desolate lands reminded Merlin how much his body hurt all over and the farthest they got the more frequent their breaks had to be. And each time Arthur asked the same worried, ‘Are you all right, Merlin?’ and each time he glared in Snow’s direction despite Merlin’s, ‘I’ll be okay.’  
  
The nights on the hard earthy ground were the worst, but Merlin tried not to let it show. Things between Arthur and Snow were tense as it was, and Merlin was scared that if Arthur snapped at her once too much, she wouldn’t hold her part of the bargain.  
  
When, after several days, they finally arrived at the foot of the tower Snow’s James was supposed to be held in, Merlin’s legs were on fire, and Arthur had to support him with an arm around his waist for Merlin to be able to keep up with their fast rhythm.  
  
Despite his weak body, Merlin hoped that the combination of his magic and Arthur’s sword would be strong enough to defeat whoever was guarding the prince.  
  
‘Look!’ Snow gasped suddenly, her finger pointing to the sky. Her expression was terrified, but it seemed they were all in luck, because flying in steady circles around the top of the tower, James’s primary guard was Aithusa.  
  
‘Can you defeat it?’ Snow asked worriedly, helplessness written all over her face.  
  
‘I can do more than that,’ Merlin answered, exchanging with Arthur a smile totally worth the pain in his face. ‘I can control him.’  
  
Merlin didn’t know what Morgana had done to Aithusa to control him back in Camelot and keep him from responding to Merlin’s call, but it was clear now that whatever it was, it didn’t hold anymore. With a few well-chosen words in dragon-tongue, Aithusa had not only bowed to his Dragonlord’s power, but also neutralised the other human guards keeping James prisoner.  
  
Arthur rode Aithusa to the top of the tower and together, they fetched the prince as easily as Merlin used to fetch Arthur’s boots to polish them. As soon as they reached the ground again, Snow fell in James’s arms and Merlin barely resisted the urge to fall in Arthur’s.  
  
Even better than delivering the prince, they now had Aithusa with them, which would strongly facilitate the travel back to wherever Morgana was hiding. They could do it, Merlin knew they could. And maybe even, they could finally solve the Morgana problem for good, and Arthur and Merlin could at last accomplish their great destiny.  
  
‘And now we’re together at long last,’ the prince said, between interspersed kisses on Snow’s face, ‘now we can marry.’  
  
‘Excuse me,’ Arthur interrupted with a tap on James’s shoulder. ‘There’s something Snow has to do for us first.’  
  
Merlin decided to intervene before Arthur got the prince angry at him too. ‘Yes, we’d be very grateful if you could lead us to Morgana before the curse gets even worse.’  
  
‘They’re after a witch from their land who cursed Merlin with a wasting disease and who is the only one able to lift the curse,’ Snow explains. ‘I promised to lead them to her if they helped me save you.’ She tightened her hold on James as she said this and Merlin could see almost regret in her eyes. ‘She’s with the Evil Queen,’ she said, her eyes piercing through Merlin’s.  
  
‘It’s too dangerous!’ James exclaimed at once. ‘Whether this witch his her friend or her foe, getting to her will be nearly impossible.’  
  
‘You say  _nearly_  impossible, I say we can do it. Merlin is the most powerful sorcerer of this realm,’ Arthur said with so much faith in Merlin that Merlin almost believed him.  
  
‘You don’t have to do that! There is a remedy that can cure all ills,’ James riposted.  
  
‘No.  _No_ , there is not,’ Merlin said adamantly, remembering all too well the last person who mentioned such a thing.  
  
‘But there  _is_ ,’ James insisted. ‘I’ve seen it happen: a true love’s kiss can cure anything.’  
  
Merlin’s heart tightened but he didn’t even have the time to consider what could happen in the very remote possibility that Arthur could be his true love.  
  
‘Well, except if Merlin has his true love stashed away nearby, there’s nothing we can do about this, can we?’ Arthur said, his voice way too hard while it was stomping all over Merlin’s heart.  
  
‘But, I thought—’ James said quietly, confusion written in his eyes. He looked quickly from Arthur to Merlin with a frown on his face, and Merlin shook his head at him, hoping Arthur wouldn’t notice anything.  
  
Whatever could be said about him, this prince was a real true love specialist, if he’d been able to notice Merlin’s undying love for Arthur after knowing them for only a few minutes.  
  
‘Do  _you_  have your true love stashed away nearby, Merlin?’ Arthur went on in his rant, oblivious to the silent conversation between Merlin and the prince.  
  
‘No, I don’t,’ Merlin said in a whisper and with much more bitterness than he expected.  
  
‘That’s what I thought.  _Then_ , I think getting our hands back on Morgana is our best shot at lifting his curse, am I right?’ The other nodded at Arthur’s authoritarian tone and Merlin had to be thankful that even if Arthur didn’t love him enough to cure him with a kiss, he  _did_  like him enough to risk his life to save him. How could Merlin ask for more, really?  
  
They barely managed to fit the four of them on Aithusa’s back, but they couldn’t leave anyone behind. They reached the Evil Queen’s castle half a day later, and they said good-bye to Snow and James, who were not looking forward to getting caught anywhere near there.  
  
By then, the pain in Merlin’s bones had spread to his fingers, and he knew they didn’t have much time left. The hardest was still left to do.  
  
~  
  
‘What the bloody hell is my sister doing locked away in the bloody hospital of this fucking town?’ Arthur bellows right into Dr Whale’s face, clenching his fists to keep himself from punching him in the nose.  
  
‘Calm down, Mr Pendragon,’ the doctor says, trying to placate him.  
  
‘Calm down? How the hell can I calm down? Do you have any idea how  _long_  we’ve been looking for her? We thought she was dead, for fuck’s sake!’  
  
‘We had no idea she had a family looking for her,’ the doctor says with his professionally adequate tone turned on. ‘She is convinced she’s a witch with magical powers. She threatened to kill us all and fly away on her white dragon. She’s a danger to others and to herself. We signalled her to all the competent authorities, but it seems these things don’t work internationally as well as we’d wish.’  
  
Dr Whale looks sorry, he really does, but there is nothing he can do to stop the whirlwind of fury inside Arthur, not on top of  _Merlin_. ‘Bullshit!’ he shouts. ‘I’m telling you this and I’m only telling you once: she’s checking out  _today_  and she’s coming back to Cardiff with me. Do anything you have to do, and if you don’t, be assured that I’ll take her anyway!’  
  
Dr Whale scarpers quickly after this, and Arthur is left alone in the waiting room once more.  
  
‘She knows the truth,’ says a voice from behind Arthur. He turns around and recognises the kid from the day before, Henry, looking as much as a smart arse as ever.  
  
‘Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Other people to annoy?’  
  
‘They locked her here because she can remember,’ Henry goes on, ignoring Arthur completely.  
  
‘Of course you don’t,’ Arthur mutters, answering his own question and fighting the headache that is sure to come.  
  
‘She knows her real identity, and you know it to, don’t you? You and Merlin—you’re the only ones who kept the same name. It has to mean something.’  
  
Arthur has no idea what the kid is on about, but his words bring to his mind-eye an image of Morgana in a black and torn dress, her hair dishevelled and her eyes glowing. It is quick and powerful and Arthur wonders how much damage this town has already done to his brain.  
  
‘She’s a witch and you’re a king and Merlin’s a wizard. Your names are not a coincidence.’  
  
Arthur almost wants to feel offended, on Merlin’s behalf at least. Arthur didn’t use to have too much problems, but he knows kids used to tease Merlin about his famous name constantly.  
  
‘You’ve got to believe it,’ Henry insists. ‘You’ve got to! It’s the only way you can save him.’  
  
‘What do you mean?’ This boy talks nonsense, but Arthur’s curiosity can’t help being piqued, if there’s any way he can save Merlin, he has to at least try.  
  
‘There’s a curse on this town,’ Henry explains. ‘Every citizen is a fairy-tale character, but they’ve been kept from remembering their happy ending, their real life. And it affects you too, except less than the others. I don’t know why, maybe because you’re not from here originally, but it doesn’t matter. All it means is that you’re closer to remembering, that you can do it! Just like your sister does!’  
  
‘ _Half_ -sister,’ Arthur says, the protest coming from nowhere. He doesn’t know why he’d make the distinction now when it’s been years since he’s considered her his true sister. It feels like a phantom reflex, like a long lost memory…  
  
And then, gradually, he can see it, he can feel the sun on his face and the weight of the crown. Gwen in her purple gown and Percy with his sleeveless armour. Gwaine training shirtless, his chest sweaty and sprinkled with dirt. Elyan brandishing his home-made sword. Leon dead; Leon coming back to life. Lancelot’s sacrifice and Lancelot’s betrayal. And Merlin. How well he can see Merlin! Merlin with his ridiculous scarf and his cheeky grin, his eyes glowing with power, and then Merlin getting hit by Morgana’s curse. He can see the dragon; he can feel the scales under his thighs, Merlin’s abdomen under his palms.  
  
He knows now; he remembers why he knew holding Merlin would feel so good. He’d travelled for several days with Merlin crushed against him but he never dared kiss the back of his ear as he wanted to so much.  
  
He can remember the dragon’s death and he can remember Snow, too. He can remember rescuing her prince and the advice he never followed.  
  
‘We never managed to lift the curse,’ he murmurs once it’s the waiting room around him again. ‘We didn’t manage to get to Morgana on time, to convince her to save Merlin. Is that why Merlin’s dying, now?’ he asks Henry, feeling as though their roles are reversed, as if he is the kid and Henry can provide all the answers.  
  
Henry nods frantically. ‘But you remember how to save him now, don’t you?’  
  
 _A true love’s kiss can cure anything_.  
  
It’s Arthur’s turn to nod. He leaves the room then; he’s got to get to Merlin before it’s too late.  
  
He reaches Merlin’s bed and it’s obvious now, of course it is. Merlin didn’t have his true love stashed away nearby; he had always been in plain sight.  
  
Henry is following him and Arthur thinks he can hear a nurse calling his name, but there’s nothing around him. There’s only him and Merlin.  
  
Arthur leans down above Merlin’s bed and he must certainly looks foolish, but he knows it will work. He  _believes_ now.  
  
There’s the press of his lips on Merlin’s and he feels like adding a little moisture to the mix but he doesn’t have time to, because this true love kiss business is effective, it really is: as soon as their lips are slotted together he can feel Merlin, whose bones were too damaged to hold him together, moving against him. He can feel tremors in Merlin’s arms so he kisses harder. There are still tubes everywhere, but they don’t matter if Arthur can feel Merlin’s lips moving against his, Merlin’s tongue peeking out of his mouth and licking at Arthur’s.  
  
Soon, the kiss is not a healing kiss anymore; it’s a loving kiss now and Merlin lifts his arms and slides them around Arthur’s back and it’s all Arthur can do not to climb next to Merlin so that he can kiss him even deeper.  
  
‘Mr Pendragon!’ the shocked cry of a nurse reaches his ears at last. He lifts his mouth from Merlin’s and for the first time in way too long, he can see his goofy grin again. He can appreciate how blue his eyes are. He wants to kiss him again immediately, but a high-pitched clearing of a throat behind his back stops him. After all the bad language he subjected Henry to, maybe he shouldn’t add public indecency to the list too.  
  
‘Mr Pendragon,’ the nurse says again, more calmly this time. ‘What is happening?’  
  
‘What is happening, Miss, is that I just saved Merlin with the power of my lips,’ Arthur answers with a self-satisfied grin Merlin’s way.  
  
‘You’re such a prat!’ Merlin says with crinkled eyes and a blinding smile.  
  
‘You can’t address me like that,’ Arthur answers softly, completely ignoring the very important information the nurse is certainly imparting now.  
  
‘Okay, sorry. You’re such a prat, my Lord,’ Merlin says, and there’s something so warm inside Arthur’s chest, he thinks he’s going to melt.  
  
‘You remember, then?’ His voice is trembling from holding so many emotions at once.  
  
‘Of course I do,’ Merlin says in a murmur.  
  
The murmur isn’t quiet enough though, because the next thing he knows, there’s a very excited Henry shouting in his ear, ‘I knew it! I knew it!’  
  
‘But what about Gwen?’ Merlin asks with a frown. Arthur’s guts curl a little at the thought, but now that he can remember everything, he can also remember Merlin’s stares and how full of heartaches they used to be. He remembers loving Gwen too, but he knows it was very different from what he feels for Merlin right now.  
  
There’s no obligation anymore; no need for an heir or for a Queen for his people. No need to be his father’s proper son anymore.  
  
‘It’s a good thing this curse made her my fiancée rather than my wife, isn’t it? It’s much easier to break up with her this way.’ Arthur’s voice is light but he knows how important what he’s saying is and he tries to make his face as serious as it needs to be.  
  
Merlin’s smile is blinding.  
  
  
It takes only a few minutes for Merlin to get rid of all his tubes and for Arthur to inform the nurse that, as an afterthought, maybe his sister is better taken care of in their hospital than anywhere else in the world, and wouldn’t they mind keeping her a little bit more?  
  
He takes Merlin’s hand in his and they’re ready to leave the hospital and go live their happily ever after (well, once the curse is lifted from this bloody town, of course), when a last something comes to Arthur’s mind.  
  
‘Hey, kid!’ He calls to Henry’s back, who has been joined in the hospital entry by the blond sheriff.  
  
‘What?’ Henry answers with a smile so big it takes almost half of his face.  
  
‘There’s one thing you were wrong about,’ he says solemnly. ‘I’ve never been a fairytale character. King Arthur of Camelot is a character of  _legend_.’


End file.
